Lessons From Idol

Hello, Friends!

It's Season 10 and we're meant to be blown away by the talent. But somehow after the first round of performances aired for public voting, all the noise turned out to be nothing but a big, wet fart.

I can't be a hypocrite; let's be thankful that the show has crowned truly stellar winners whose indelible performances will forever wreak havoc in our collective unconscious: Ruben Studdard, Taylor Hicks, Kris Allen and Lee DeWyze. OK, I like Idol for the same reason I like The Apprentice. Donald Trump's toupee makes me laugh. Having Don Junior as "eyes and ears" makes me laugh. Having Miley Cyrus as a mentor makes me laugh. Having Victoria Beckham as guest judge makes me laugh. All together, now: Ha, ha, ha.

With Idol 10 and the gloriously dehydrated Steven Tyler as a judge, it pays to shriek and scream onstage. And when all else fails, cry. Just ask James Durbin and Naima Adedapo. Crying somehow indicates that you're a better singer because you're, like, so in touch with who you are, and that's so dope.

I love American Idol, I really do. Simon Cowell developed my taste; Randy Jackson taught me to "keep it real, dawg;" Paula Abdul gave me an appreciation for my inner doozy; and Kara Dioguardi gave me the confidence to wear a bikini onstage. I can't say that I learned anything from Ellen Degeneres, except that she's fabulous and I felt awful she had to judge the most armpit-sucking season of Idol. Oh, and Ryan Seacrest proved that a man's face can take more make-up than a drag queen's. I bet if I sprinkled some mungbeans on his cheeks, they'll promptly sprout and take root.

So back to Season 10. Can someone explain to me why Ashton Jones, who is always out of breath and out of tune, in the Top 13? The music industry is littered with the skeleton of a million Ashton Joneses - beautiful black female power belters who had the misfortune of having been "discovered" after Beyonce.

Naima Adedapo has got such a fierce sense of style. But bless her, every time she sings, she sounds like she wants nothing else but be a lounge songstress - and not a very good one, either. The girls singing at The Champagne Bar in The Grand Hyatt will laugh her off the stage.

Haley Reinhart can growl until she's hoarse and I'm still waiting to hear some singing.

I feel sorry for poor Brett Loewenstern because the kid is likely to be bullied even more when he returns to real life.

I want to like Jacob Lusk, I really do. Except that I'm turned off by the preaching. Perhaps I've become completely evil, hence, my skin crawls with heaven's wrath every time Jacob points his finger heavenward.

OK, it's easy for me to bitch and moan from the safety of my couch, but hey - I'm all bark. I don't bite, except on request. I'd rather be a bitch than an asshole, which is what Clint Jun Gamboa and Jordan Dorsey are. Assholes get eliminated. Immediately. America hates bad people. And in case you haven't seen an American movie, you're only either good or bad. If you're bad, you better be British.

By the way, J.Lo's new music video is sick. In a good way.

Dance, bitches. It's a Saturday night!

With Affection,
James